


ACT V

by orphan_account



Series: The Foolhardy Affair [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Cold War, F/M, Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Napoleon is suitless ! Is that his only problem, or is it worse? Find out more in *drumroll* the fifth installment of the FOOLHARDY AFFAIR
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, Napoleon Solo/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Foolhardy Affair [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520612
Kudos: 15





	ACT V

**Author's Note:**

> what is this. why is this. why am i writing so much. 
> 
> for me this is like a "Deadly Exams Affair" Because I've been writing this between revision :)
> 
> I hope you like it ❤️❤️

Napoleon could hear everything around him, he could feel what was happening, but his eyelids felt like massive weights. His brain was thinking but his mouth wasn't forming the words. He realised that that Martini was probably spiked, and he cursed himself for not suspecting a pretty blonde who came up to him. Although, he wasn't too sure about the plain brunette who he was with at the moment. He was ninety-nine percent sure she was a THRUSHie. He could feel as he was pushed into a car, he could hear the fast Hindi conversations around him. He knew some basic vocabulary and caught some words up, but they were useless in telling him where he was going.

The steady hands were still there, wherever he went, holding onto him or around him. Sometimes his clammy hand was the one being caught. He could always smell the light hint of rose somewhere near him, or maybe feel the long hair touching his face. He could feel as the car moved but never said a word, never  _ could _ say a word. 

The next thing he felt was inky blackness, he could see nothing, but now his head felt a sharp pain worse than any before, and he finally gave out somewhere that he couldn't make out. 

He woke up somewhere, smelling like spice, like something that would burn his tongue to even taste. The next thing he felt was the heat, the sweltering heat in and around his face. He could feel his unbrushed curly hair sticking to his forehead. His quiff now flat and sweaty. He was somewhere soft, his face was pressed into a pillow and although it was hot, a thin blanket was covering him and his suit.

_ Wait, no suit. _

He didn't have his suit on, he was just lying there, in something… it was just light enough to trick him into thinking that it wasn't there but was still something. Next, he thought about opening his eyelids, to his surprise they opened with only some slight willpower. 

//

His face was pressed against a pillow and his eyelashes were poking into his eye. He was about to turn around when he heard a clatter near his bedside. 

A loud metal clatter, followed by a string of curse words. He probably guessed they were Hindi but actually didn't want to translate them. He turned around, but kept his eyes shut, as half of him was scared of what he'd open them to, and half of him was interested in what'd keep happening. 

The curse words around now started to form to English, although Solo could recognize them easily, he kept a neutral expression and tried to keep his breathing deep and steady. 

"Oh im sorry I didn't notice you've turned around—" the voice that was cursing just a second ago said, in scathing, accented English, probably to herself. Napoleon recognised the voice ;

oh no

it was that voice that he'd familiarised himself with.

he silently cursed as he lay in bed, it was the damn THRUSH girl who'd taken him in. He braced himself for a splash of ice-cold water, hitting his face as he'd gasp for air, at least most torturing sessions had started off like this. This one didn't. It started off with a soft thump at the foot of the bed and a loud sigh, and within a few seconds, Napoleon felt a pillow to his face. The girl grinned from the end of the bed, perfect aim. Napoleon didn't do anything as the pillow slowly fell off his face and onto the ground. There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the room, "Stupid American!" A voice exclaimed as it came up close to Napoleon to pick up the talked pillow.

Napoleon took that comment as a blow to his pride, if he could feel his legs then he'd be able to give a good hard kick as retaliation. But he couldn't, and he just lay there, eyes closed, wondering what she'd say next. 

"Stupid American who doesn't wake up!" The voice said, quieter this time, with the same accented concern and anger as he'd heard on the airplane. "Stupid American doesn't know what I've done to try and save him." 

Napoleon was interested, what exactly _had she_ done to ‘save him’, she said |save|, she probably meant more torture. The voice then descended into quiet angry muttering in muddled Hindi and English. Napoleon took a deep retching breath which made the angry muttering pause and the girl look at him. She walked to his side and leaned over the bed, to his forehead. She slowly touched it with her small, cold hand and then pulled it back without warning. 

"Stupid American will die if he doesn't try to live—" she growled as she walked off, out of the room, in a hurry. Napoleon panicked as he heard this, he didn't want to die, but he didn't have to wake up just yet.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you enjoyed uwu!!  
> and maybe give it a kudo ❤️


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